What you see when you look at me, and what I see when I look in the mirror, are two very different people.

According to what you tell me, you see somebody who’s relatively fit and (conventionally) pretty.  Secure in herself, with a wide-smiled approach to life. Some of you indicate you wish you had it all together, as I apparently do. 

It’s funny when people say these things to me. Not funny as in “haha that’s hilarious”, but funny as in the universe seems to have played some kind of cosmic joke and made it so no one can see me as I am.

Because “as I am”, is a girl who feels morbidly obese, unlovable, failing at everything she ever does, and well, add in every untrue mean-girl cliché any of us have ever thought about ourselves, and you get the gist of where I’m at.

I tell you that I’m comfortable in my skin, that I like who I am. And it’s true. I do. But two ideas can be true at the same time. 

Two truths, one Tink. 

​It started out as a nonsensical dream. 
Rather innocently, in fact, almost whimsically ridiculous. 

I was out and about in a rather nondescript, could-be-practically-anywhere-really, small, iconic looking all-American town with a man, who claimed to be my father. We were going on a father/daughter outing to have a special meal. 

A silly fun meal. 
An all-American iconic meal. 
A hot dog.

A part of me registered that this man leading me by the hand, was in fact NOT my father. But he said he was, and so his authority was set in stone despite the evidence of my memory intruding. 

Plus he took me by the hand, and smiled so charmingly. Surely his role was trustworthy. 

I wish I could capture this moment in a painting. 

I’m at a friend’s home for a special dinner planned weeks ago. A simple gathering for us all to catch up after the rush of the holidays.

To my left is the best friend of the hosts, who are seated across from me. Always with a twinkle in his eye, we have engaged in many lively conversations about performing (he’s an accomplished drag entertainer), and living life while staying true to yourself. I always smile when I see him.

​My hosts are a dynamic couple whose 20+ year relationship is beautiful to witness, with each quip, glance, or casual touch, the husbands give one another. They have lived such interesting lives, and I enjoy hearing the stories they tell. I met them at a local coffee shop, and am grateful they included me into their group of vibrant friends. 

I am not the droid you’re looking for…

I laugh as I think these words. Full well knowing that they are the meme version of a famous Star Wars quote. And yet, this corrupted version is so appropriate in many of my life circumstances lately. And in the oddest of ways…

​I am not the droid you’re looking for…

Like when men tell me that, eventually, I will want to “settle down” and pop out some babies. They proudly relate how they will “let” me stay home and cook their meals and do their laundry. 

Puffed up chests as they suggest I give up my own exciting existence to participate in the mundane one they present to me on a silver platter as though offering me a long held dream (that only exists in my nightmares)…

“Why are you short staffed?” I asked. 

He responded so quickly the words practically exploded out of his mouth. “Because people are lazy and don’t want to work!” 

I tilted my head, a bit surprised by his outburst. He laughed self deprecatingly. “Well you know, haha, I mean it’s just hard to find people willing to take a job…” he trailed off.

I was sitting across the desk from a man who claimed he was interviewing EVERY person who had applied for the job which we were discussing. 

Yet although I had officially applied on the appropriate website for this position, I hadn’t received a call from him for this interview. He only scheduled it when someone on his staff informally introduced us and mentioned that I had applied.  Then that same staff person strongly suggested he meet with me.

Twenty four hours later, I found myself sitting across from him.